


Wayfarer

by Red_Them



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Gay Character, Gen, High School, M/M, Modern Era, Nonbinary Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Polyamorous Character, Romani Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-09-24 12:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Them/pseuds/Red_Them
Summary: Roy Mustang just can't seem to catch a break. After a week of nightmare-fuelled insomnia, The Truth sends him to a new world to clean up his act. He wakes up as a teenager in 2018 Canada, and has to navigate hormones and high school. But hopefully, this can give him a chance at the expectation-free life that he never got.!!THIS FIC WILL NO LONGER BE UPDATED ON AO3. PLEASE GO TO QUOTEV FOR ANY FUTURE UPDATES!!





	1. Moonstruck

**Author's Note:**

> My second fic on here, and another collav with the wonderful Len! As always, constuctive criticism is welcome!

Roy's POV

Getting home and to my bed is, as always, an unsavory task. Since Ishval, I try as often as Hawkeye gives me the option to to stay awake so that I don't have to suffer through the dreams. Unfortunately, the Lieutenant decided today that she had to order me to sleep. I don't know how she manages to order her superior officers around, but she does it. I sit on the bed with only my slacks, shirt, and socks, and start to read through more of the mission reports from today, which I unfortunately can't ignore. Besides, as much as I hate paperwork, I hate the nightmares that sleep brings more. Oh well, at least I can honestly tell the Lieutenant that I was in my bed tonight.

I start to shift through the papers. The writing is damn near illegible. Damn it, Fullmetal, why do you insist in rushing your reports? I've seen your journal, I know that you can write better than this you little shit. 

After quite some time, and a lot of struggle, I finally finish reading Fullmetal's report. I begin to go through some other paperwork. It’s all the same thing to be honest; ‘sign this’ and ‘what do you think of this’, and a few reports I have to sign at the end of them to approve of them. Occasionally there are other types of paperwork I would have to do. 

There are lots of different types of paperwork. The normal ones that bore the hell out of me, mostly filled with things about previous cases that I don’t really care about. Like that shop that was robbed, or the low key threatening that was investigated. The reports like the time that a man poked a bear at the zoo which caused the bear to eat him, and then the family sued the bear. The type of stuff that makes me wish that we had a separate police force instead of shoving the mundane stuff onto the military. 

And then there are ones that I don’t really need to read through, but only really have to sign the bottom because I’ll get into trouble if I don’t agree with it. I hate these ones just on principle. The fact that you could get demoted for not approving a dam makes it pretty damn obvious that something is wrong with this country.

Then there are the reports that slightly more rare, but slightly more interesting to read, and also a lot more gruesome. I mean the ones that talk about the murder cases and show pictures of the people that died and their corpses. Crime scene photos scattered through the file, images of splattered brains and pools of blood and mutilations. Children who went missing only to be found floating face down in the river a week later. Descriptions of the people whose lives were cut short by psychopaths and in fits of rage, but written like they were characters in a play instead of living beings. Ones like that from a couple days ago, where a butcher went mad and decided to chop his victims to pieces, cackling. 

Or the reports that talk about Ishval. The ones where I can't help but feel like one of the cold-blooded killers in the murder files. Reports of the charcoal and blood stained rubble that sits where grand cities were. Concerned soldiers reporting whispers of a new rebellion, documents which I swiftly burn before anyone can notice.

And then there are the rare ones. The funny ones. Like the ones that want me to approve of a pole dancing strip club a few officers want to open for the public, or the mission reports that talk about their date so much that it’s obvious that they didn’t go on their mission at all. Or the ones that ask me to approve of a one day maid cafe where they get Armstrong to get into a maid outfit and perform a cute little song for the crowd. (Can’t say that I didn’t approve of that one for fun.) Or the “formal” complaints that officers will put in about their coworkers that are stupid as ever, like; ‘He stole my favourite christmas cookie,’ or ‘He cheated in that bet we did,’ or ‘I didn’t give him a Christmas present, so he became Darth Vader with an axe while Santa Clause was floating by in outer space,’ (I actually got that once.), or ‘He hotwired the car during a stake out mission.’ And then there are the stories that sneak their way in there about how ‘It snowed last year too. So I made a snowman, and then Havoc knocked it down, so I knocked Havoc down, and then we had tea.’

However I'd never admit to anyone in a million years that I actually like those bits of paper work. Hawkeye would probably admit me to an asylum if I did. Some of the crazier ones do make me wonder how many of the soldiers are drinking on the job, though.

After I finish the reports, I find myself being significantly more tired than I ever remember being this early (early being 11:48). My eyelids getting way too heavy, and black dots start to cloud my vision. It feels unnatural and wrong. My thoughts are cloudy, like the haze of too much alcohol. Which is strange, I didn't have any today. I don't have much time to think and move the paperwork before everything goes black.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------  
I open my eyes tiredly to find myself standing in a completely white room with no features. Perhaps calling it a room is wrong, since there's no walls, ceiling, or floor. I see a completely white figure that I can just make out among the white room staring at me, right in front of me. It's only noticeable feature is a too-wide grin. I haven't even said a word when it opens its mouth to speak.

“I'll give you two options,” the figure tells me. A shiver runs down my spine. I have no idea who this could be. Or what this could be. My next thought is: Two options for what? I try to ask this to the figure, but my voice stays locked in my throat, and I can't even get out a whisper. 

“You'll either have to work with me for one year, or go to another world and stay there for a year. Either way you'll come back in the end.” The figure says, and I look at it. 

What I really want, is to go home, and go to work like I usually do. But to be honest, this is probably just a dream, and I'll simply wake up tomorrow morning, and everything will be normal. I suppose this is what I get for not getting a wink of sleep for a week. Passing out and then having a dream like this. 

“Make your decision al-chem-ist, or I will make it for you.”

I try to argue back, but once again,my voice seems stuck in my throat and I can't get the words out at all. It feel like my throat is clogged, almost to the point where I'm having trouble breathing. The figure gives me an evil smirk. 

“Times up! Looks like you're going to the other world.” It grins wide, and almost instantly black dots start to cloud my vision. I feel myself stumble back, but whatever was keeping me upright seems to disappear, and I fall. Everything goes black.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------  
It's cold. Much colder then I remember it getting this time of year. The breeze blowing against my face. Wait, breeze? When did I get outside?

I shoot up and look around me, and find that I'm actually in what looks like a park. It's obviously the middle of the night, and a cold one too, judging by the stinging of my face. I feel like I should be colder all over, so I look down at my attire and see that it was changed. I'm now wearing a jacket of some sort, my ignition gloves, and boots. Where did my uniform go? That's all that I can really see due to the darkness.

I get up, feeling like the trees are a lot taller than I last saw them to be. I stumble a little, and then start walking in a random direction, looking for some light, so that I know where I am, so that I can go home. I continue walking, and it’s not long at all until I see some lights. I somewhat jog towards it, but after a few seconds, going back to a slow walk out of exhaustion. Maybe Hawkeye is right about the whole needing to sleep thing. I finally reach the lights, to find that I don’t know where I am at all, and everything seems to be quite a bit bigger than it used to be. Especially the trees. The houses look slightly different, and I don’t really look into how, deciding not going to until I either figure out where I am, or the sun rises. Whichever one comes first. 

I decide to walk down the street and try to find a type of building. A school or community centre could be helpful right now. Especially street names. I’ll need to keep an eye out for a pay phone. I continue to walk, my legs starting to ache from exhaustion, and I’m finding myself getting out of breath. My fingers are getting cold, even through my gloves, and the wind bites through whatever sort of jacket that I have on. A shit quality one, obviously.

As I walk, I start to think about the hell that Hawkeye will give me in the morning, if I find my way back to my house by that point. She’ll probably yell at me, while pointing the gun at my face for not even being in bed. The thought sends a shiver down my spine that confuses me. Why did I get a chill about this? I’ve never had that happen before. I shrug it off and continue thinking about Hawkeye and what she’ll do. It's probably just the exhaustion. I sigh. I would rather be at home, and not wandering through the cold in a random jacket at the middle of the night, but I know that I can be rest assured that Hawkeye will send out a search party if I'm gone too long. I hope I'll be found and taken back to at least headquarters, if I can't find my way back. I feel like the only good thing about this so far is that I don’t have to deal with the rest of my team, Fullmetal, or any other idiotic officers for at least tomorrow. I realize that I was so stuck in my thoughts that I haven’t been paying attention at all to where I was going. So much for trying to figure out where I am. 

I realize that I'm in a completely different area, extremely close to another forest. Great. How long was I actually thinking about that for? I wonder to myself, internally groaning. I try to continue my little walk, and realize that my legs are burning, I’m completely out of breath, and my vision is spinning. Feeling the need to continue further, I try to keep going, but I find that black dots are starting to cover my vision again, and my legs are about to give out any second. I have to keep walking, get back home and continue work. For once I actually feel a want to do my paperwork. And before you check me for a fever, it’s only a slight want, because that would mean that everything is back to normal, which is what I want right now. 

I feel my legs give out from underneath me, burning from overworking them. I fall to the ground, the world spinning, almost to the point where it’s upside down at points, and black dots are covering my vision. As I feel myself falling unconscious, I see a bright light and then someone running up to me, calling out something. Then I black out for the third time in recent history.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------  
???’s POV

Gods, I hate winter. 

The wind bites harshly into any of my exposed skin as I ride down the highway. Even through my riding gloves I can feel the chill. This cold is a fucking hazard, things start to get dangerous when you're on a hybrid scooter in this weather. I suppose it could be worse, though. There could be ice. That's not much of a consolation, though. It's pitch black out here. Well, I suppose that it's what I get for taking a job at a sketchy bar on the outskirts of town.

I catch a glimpse of someone up ahead, illuminated by my headlight. Who the hell is crazy enough to be out here? I slow down the bike to get a look. The guy is stumbling like he's been walking for kilometers. I'm weighing the pros and cons of checking on him when he promptly collapses. Well, shit. I turn my bike off and leap over to him. 

With what I can see in my headlight, he's young, a bit sickly looking, and has wicked bags under his eyes. His clothing is quite honestly the bare minimum for what you'd need to survive out here. He has no jacket and an early autumn sweater, has no scarf or hat, his gloves are thin and obviously made for warmer climates, and his boots definitely aren't good for anything below -5°C. I had been hesitant to bring him with me in case he was some sort of murderer, but with how he's dressed, he looks like an ill-prepared runaway. I consider whether I should call the police. If he's lost or something, I would be helping out, but if he ran away, I don't want to risk him getting put in an unsafe situation. Fuck. 

I guess there's only one thing to do about it. I wrap him in my scarf the best that I can and carry him to my bike. He's a lot lighter than he looks, and I can feel through his jacket that he's absolutely freezing. I make sure that he's safely secure in the seat in front of me before starting the engine. There's about a fifteen minute ride to get back to my apartment. 

When I fìnally get to my apartment, get the dark-haired guy off of my bike, and activate the anti-theft protocols, I start to see the hole in my plan. I have to carry someone all the way to my apartment without raising suspicion. I… I have no idea how to do this. I look at him. He's tiny. Like, really small. And then the idea occurs to me. I pick him up so that he's in a piggyback position and make sure that I have my bag. Alright. If I pull this off, I think that he could pass as a younger sibling. Yeah. That makes sense.

I make my way to the elevator, which I manage to get into without issue. This is going way smoother than I expected. I punch in my floor number, and ride the elevator up. I step out into the hall. Here comes the riskiest part, but luckily it's really late and not many people are awake. I've gotten about 20 feet from my apartment when I hear the old cat lady from down the hall call to me. Damn it. She's known for forgetting to take her medicine and then berating her neighbors. Luckily, I heard that she'll leave you alone if you act like a 1940's gentleman. Also, I know that I won't have to keep up a ruse. She tends to forget her conversations.

“Young man, what were you doing out so late,” she scolds, “and with someone on your shoulders no less! You had better not have been out partying!”

“No ma'am,” I say, trying to get away as soon as possible, “just my kid brother got too tired and fell asleep before I got home from work ma'am. Good night!”

I rush the rest of my way to my apartment before she can respond. Opening the door is a lot harder while carrying someone, but fortunately I successfully unlock it and swing the door open. I put the guy on my couch, and close and lock my door. Now I can actually focus on taking care of this little shit.

I kneel down next to my couch and check his temperature. His skin is absolutely cold to the touch. Great, he'll probably have a fever in the morning. Just what I need. I head to my spare bedroom and open the chest where I store my blankets. I grab a soft green fleece bedspread and head back into the living room. By now, the kid is shivering in his sleep. I lay the blanket gently over his sleeping form and slip a pillow from a nearby chair under his head. It's difficult to get the pillow under his shoulder length hair, but I manage to get it in a position that doesn't look too uncomfortable. 

I have no idea when he's going to wake up, so I go to my kitchen, pull out a mug, fill the kettle with water, and put it on to boil. I fill a tea ball with assam and drop it in the cup. Hmm. Thinking about it, I should probably have some food too. For the guy as well. I break out two packages of ramen noodles and get some bowls from the cupboard. I consider just leaving the ramen at that, but I know that I need more than just noodles. I go to the fridge and grab the green onions. I cut them up and add them to the bowls. Anything else? Nah. I'm just too tired at this point to chop up anything else to eat. I lean against the counter, and wait for the water to boil.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------  
Roy's POV

I open my eyes slowly, but tiredly and stare at the unfamiliar ceiling that stood above me, and faintly aware of a whistling sound that stops a few seconds later. I can smell some sort of soup. I glance around the room. Beige walls decorated with tall colourful patterned wood blocks, a window ledge covered in tropical plants and cacti, a couch on which I'm laying, a couple chairs and stools, and a small, open kitchen all leading to a hallway with what presumably has rooms. There's evidence of multiple people living here, despite the tiny space. I begin to sit up to get a better understanding of my surroundings when I suddenly feel someone push me down. 

“Woah, easy there tiger. You just passed out on the side of a road.” There's a teenager with a sleeveless shirt and pants made out of a canvas-like material. His skin is an olive colour, and his deep brown eyes match his long hair, which is tied up away from his face. He's got tattoos of butterflies all the way up his neck, freckles on his face and arms, and slim muscles like Fullmetal. 

I look at him, and try to recall what had happened before, but everything seems fuzzy after I passed out in my room. I give him a blank look and stupidly say, “Oh, did I?” Something seems different about my voice, but I feel too tired to really pay attention to it. 

He raises his eyebrow. “Yeah, you did.” He turns and grabs something from the kitchen before returning with a bowl of something hot. It must be whatever I smelled earlier. “Here. Do you have any allergies? It's ramen.”

The teen gently sits me up, and I take the bowl from him gratefully with a quiet thank you, and taste the noodles referred to as ‘ramen’. It’s salty, but overall pretty tasty, and has a strange vegetable cut into it. I stare into the bowl in shock as I notice just how small, thin and frail my hands look. This catches the teen’s attention. 

“Are you alright? You're looking kind of freaked out,” he says, voice laced with concern.

I don’t respond, place the bowl down carefully on my lap. I begin to look at my hands, completely freaked out. My hands haven’t looked like this since I was younger than Fullmetal when he joined the military. The teen looks at me, looking even more concerned. 

He kneels, and it's only now that I notice that my eye level is really fucking low. “Hey, what's going on? Are you okay?” His brow is scrunched in concern.

I look at him fearfully, and ask, “Where am I?” I quickly clap my hands over my mouth, my eyes shooting wide, and my heart pounding with fear. My voice sounds extremely different. It’s definitely a higher pitch than it used to be, and it sounds a lot younger. As much as I would never want to admit it, I’m scared. 

The stranger's eyes show deep concern with sparks of rage. Towards who, I can't tell. His voice is soft, but it sounds like he's holding back his emotions. “We're in London, Ontario. Are you far from home,” asks as he seems to consider something else, “Is it safe for you to go home?”

“I don’t know….” I trail off, having a feeling that I should at least tell this person this much. “I don’t know where home is.” I admit, my voice shaking like crazy as the full realization dawns onto me. 

This isn't Amestris. This is nowhere close to Amestris. There’s no way I’ll be found in a simple search… I’m not even in the same country. Where the hell is London? Ontario for that matter? 

My mind is scrambling to figure out what’s going on. I'm freaking out. One second I’m in my room reading paperwork and passing out, then I have a weird dream, and now I’m in a random place that I know nothing about, and it’s definitely not Amestris. My hands look different, my voice is different, and I have no idea how, or why. The stranger puts a hand on my shoulder, seeming to be trying to comfort me, and trying not to get too into my personal space in the process. 

He speaks softly, like Hawkeye does when I'm having an especially bad day. “Hey, you don't need to go back, and if you haven't got a plan yet, you're welcome to stay with me until you get stuff figured out.” His eyes are soft and understanding, but have a glint of protective steel to them.

I look at him with a blush and a nod. I’m not used to being cared for like this. I feel something wish against my shoulder. My heart starts racing again, Hoping it’s not another weird change that’s happened to my body. I jump up from the couch, and start staggering towards to nearest exit of the room. 

The stranger quickly gets up and moves into a supportive position. “What are you doing, idiot? I just said you were passed out, you're in no condition to be walking!” It's obvious by his tone that he's more concerned than angry, but I wince at his deceptively strong grip around my waist anyway.

I try to use all of the strength I have to pull away, and I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my body. I’m scared, I have to know what’s going on. And fast. I struggle against his grip. “Let me go!” I yell, feeling even more scared that this isn’t a hallucination at all, considering how long this is going for. It doesn’t seem like a dream either. I can even hear the fear in my voice. 

With all the effort I'm putting in, I'm really not expecting the teen to actually listen, but he releases me and I end up falling onto the hardwood flooring. “Okay, sorry. Just, for the gods’ sake, tell me what you need to get and I'll get it for you.” He helps me back up.

I walk ahead a little, but then stop. “I need a mirror, and fast.” I mutter, my tone now serious, much more like how I would normally say it, rather than sounding like I’m about to cry my eyes out. Ok, minus the fact that my voice hasn’t gone back to normal at all, I’m actually starting to sound normal. 

The teen disappears into one of the rooms quickly, then emerges with a hand mirror. “Okay, I've got the mirror. Now, you're going to sit down before you overexert yourself and then you get the mirror, capiche?”

I look at the stranger and nod, slowly, and walk back over to the couch, and sit down, looking at him expectantly. He hands me the mirror facing away from me, and sits on the arm of the couch. I take the mirror with a quick thank and look in it… 

Only to find maybe one of the biggest shocks in my life. 

The person looking back at me, was not Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, a 28 year old man. Well, it was still me, but instead of 28, I look no older than 15, but the number 16 for some reason pops into my head whenever I thought about my age, so I guess I’ll leave it at that. My hair was still black, but instead of its normal, short cut, it fell down to shoulder length. My eyes are also black, but they look a lot bigger than they did before. I honestly look like I could be mistaken for a girl. 

I stare in the mirror in shock, and I feel tears fall down my face. My emotions are everywhere, going in every direction possible. Fear, sadness, anxiety, etc. I feel overwhelmed by everything that's happening, which makes me even more overwhelmed. Fuck. I'm not used to these types of emotions. 

I think that I've started to lose track of time, because before I can figure out what's going on, the mirror is gone, and I'm wrapped in someone's arms.

“It’s ok.” I hear him whisper in my ear, and I feel myself start to cry. Why am I crying? I wouldn’t normally be crying in this situation at all. What I would normally do is accept the hug for a moment (because I’m nice), and then push him away. But for some reason, I feel comforted to the point where my emotions are spilling out, uncharacteristically. I cry for a few minutes, and when I stop, the stranger pulls away. “Feeling better?” They ask, which I answer with a nod. He smiles. “Good. You should get some rest.” He say, and I nod again, too much in shock with everything that has happened. 

I lay down on the couch, kinda borrowing one of his pillows to use, and he put a green blanket that I didn’t notice was there until now onto me.

He looks at me and smiles. “Goodnight.” The stranger says gently, almost in a motherly tone. He then gets up, walks over to the lights, and turns them off. I just see him then walk over to one of the chairs, sits down, and grabs a book. A dim, small light suddenly turns, on, and I see the stranger reading the book. 

Deciding to actually listen to Hawkeye’s advice for once, I roll onto my side, close my eyes, and let myself relax. Maybe if I sleep, this will all just be a crazy dream and I’ll wake up in my apartment, and go to work like normal. My last thoughts are of home before I drift off into sleep.


	2. Poptarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Roy starts to realize the deep shit he's in.

Roy's POV

I wake up to the smell of pastries and the sound of someone speaking rapidly. Where am I again? I open my eyes. This doesn't look like anywhere I know. I sit up to get a better look at my surroundings and-

“Oh, good morning.”

I turn around to see a teen with long hair, noticing that he has a strange accent, and suddenly, I remember. Last night. Oh truth. I cried in front of a total stranger. My face goes red in embarrassment as I remember the events from yesterday. I look away. But if last night actually happened then…

Oh hell no. 

I get up and quickly run to the bathroom. I hear a small protest from the teen, but ignore it, my urge to check just too strong. My strength seems to be back. I feel normal, but a strong feeling in my gut says that I don’t look normal at all. I get to the bathroom, look in the mirror, and realize that I was right. Staring back at me was the young kid who was here yesterday, not a full grown man who had a date scheduled for this evening. 

I walk back over to the couch that I was sleeping on, looking around. While I do so, I realise that everything seems a lot bigger than it once was. A thought pops into my head, which I deeply hope is not true. I want to ask, but I decide that I should wait until I’ve at least had something to eat.

The teen seems to read my thoughts and places some sort of colourful, fake-looking pastry in front of me. “You better had not have been puking in there. Goodness knows that you need to eat, and I don't have the patience to deal with sick strangers.” He holds out his left hand. “Speaking of strangers, I forgot to ask your name. You can call me Jackie.”

I take his hand, believing he’s offering a handshake. “It’s Roy.” I say, deciding not to give out my last name until I really know what’s going on. I also decide to ignore his odd phrasing. I'll figure that out later.

I pick up the pastry and look at it for a moment, debating whether something that looks so fake is really edible. And I don’t really want to take the risk if Jackie’s trying to poison me or something. My stomach growls, yelling at me to eat something. I decide that he doesn’t seem to want to do that, so I take a bite of the fake looking pastry. 

My eyes go wide at the taste. The taste of sweet pastry, icing, and sugary filling. I don’t usually enjoy sugary sweets, which is a relief considering that they cost an arm and a leg, but I do have to admit, I’m loving this. 

“This is delicious!” I say, my mouth still full from the sweet treat. 

Jackie looks at me incredulously, then snorts. “Holy hell Roy, if that's delicious then you need to try my cooking. This,” he points at the one that he's eating, “is cheap as fuck.”

I stare at him for a moment. “Wait, what?” What could he mean by it being cheap? Sugar was really expensive. And this? It was practically all sugar.

He giggles, wrinkling his nose. Cute. Wait. No! Curse you, teenage hormones! I'm not even a teenager, damn it! 

“Aww, honey, you're sweet. But really, do I look like I've got the cash to be living well?” Something in his voice is both playful and weary, and I realize that my host is a lot more complicated than he seems. 

I look at Jackie for a moment, as I take another bite into my should-be super expensive delicacy. I’m starting to wonder what would happen if you heated these up, considering the icing and all. Oh well, I’ll figure that out later. I continue to stare at him, starting to space out and let my mind wander.

My mind wanders to things like what missions could be happening right now, and Hughes, and Hawkeye, until the craziest thought just pops into my head. That thought being: Fullmetal working as a maid, wearing a maids dress, and actually acting the part like he’s completely into it. I burst out laughing my ass off, and Jackie looks at me. 

“Are you alright? Holy hell, it wasn't that funny!” Jackie looks legitimately concerned for my well being after my outburst of laughter, but he also has a soft smile on his face.

“No! No! Sorry!” I just manage to get out as I’m still laughing my ass off at the random thought. Jackie looks at me and frowns a little. I suddenly can't read his face at all. It's a little freaky, to be honest.

“Okay,” he says, then turns and starts to go back to the kitchen. He pats my shoulder on his way out. “Finish your breakfast, Roy.” He pulls a small metal tablet of sorts from his pocket and taps the shiny surface, which seems to be emitting some sort of light.

I stare at it in shock and wonder. What is that thing? How does it do that? I'm finding myself starting to act like Fullmetal’s mechanic. Which is good because she's a strong, intelligent girl; but bad because once again I'm feeling childish. Damn it! But that tablet is really interesting…

I stare at it while I eat my sweet breakfast, and continue to gaze at it. Part of me wonders why I’m so interested and doesn't mind it, but a huge part of me feels childish for being this curious. I shake my head. I’m an adult for fuck’s sake! I’m not a teenager anymore! I should be spending my time thinking about where the hell I am and how to get home. Not being distracted by some weird tablet that glows when someone touches it. 

But why do I feel so... young? I’ve even been dealing with mood swings that bring me back to my early teenage years. I’m so confused. I have no idea what’s happened to me or why. Honestly, It’s overwhelming. That fact in of itself is confusing, since I have a good grasp of my emotions. I feel tears start to brim my eyes. I try to hold them back, but nothing seems to stop them, and before I know it, tears are flowing down my face. I start trying to wipe them away with my sleeve, hoping Jackie won’t notice. Why is this happening? I try to breathe, but instead choke out a small sob. Unfortunately, this gets Jackie’s attention. 

“Roy!” I hear a concerned cry from the kitchen. I can hear his footsteps as he rushes back to the couch to comfort me. Before I can say anything, I'm once again wrapped in Jackie's arms. “Hey, it's alright. It will be fine.”

As soon as his arms wrapped around me, I break down against my will, bawling my eyes out. Fuck, stop being so emotional, you absolute idiot. I try to stop myself from crying, but I find myself having no success, and continuing to bawl my eyes out. I also find myself wanting to nuzzle into Jackie's shoulder for comfort. No, you dumb alchemist bitch. Stop that. He's probably ten years younger than you, damn it. 

I try again, actually managing to compose myself this time, as much as someone can be composed with tear tracks on their face. I gently push him away. My cheeks are tinted red in embarrassment. 

“T-thank you,” I mumble, wiping the tears out of my eyes. I can feel the heat on my cheeks when I brush my hand across my face. Jackie brushes some hair out of my eyes.

“Hey, it's alright. I'd be a bit overwhelmed too.” He has a soft, sad smile. It makes me want to tell him. It just makes him look like he knows things that I need to understand. However, I simply give him a look. What the hell does he know? He's just a kid. He probably just thinks that I'm a runaway kid or something. Even if I wanted to say anything, he wouldn't believe a word of it. I mean really? I got turned into a teenager? No one would believe that. I look down at my lap, wanting to go home. 

Jackie lets out a small sigh. “Are you sure that you're okay? I quickly nod, not wanting to risk giving into the urge to nuzzle into his shoulder. 

I glance around, looking to see if I could make a dart for it to get a glass and some water. I'm thirsty as hell. I guess that's what pastries made out of sugar do to you. Or crying out half the water in your body. That could do it too. Also, I really want an excuse to get up so that I can get away from my emotions. Jackie gets up, and as if he read my mind, gets a glass of water and hands it to me.

“How did you know?” I ask. Jackie smirks and makes sure that I have a proper grip on the glass.

“Experience,” he turns and gets himself some water as well, “I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks.” He leans against the kitchen counter and takes a sip from his glass. “Oh, by the way, I noticed that you get overwhelmed pretty easily, so I thought I'd tell you now. My boyfriend, Bart, is coming over at around 1:30. I've got work, so he'll be looking after you from after 8:00 tonight. He knows where everything is, so you can ask him the same stuff that you would ask me.”

I choke on my water from shock. Boyfriend? Yeah, I've heard of some men taking male lovers back in Amestris, who hasn't? I mean, it isn't so uncommon in the State barracks, what with there being separate dorms for men and women and all. I've just never heard anyone be so blaisé and open about it. Luckily, Jackie misinterprets my shock as something else, and smirks into his glass.

“Calm down there on the water, kid, we're not in the Sahara. Take your time.”

I stop drinking the water and look at him for a second. Where the fuck is the Sahara? After pondering on that for a second, I take another sip from my water and look back at the ground. Talking to this guy has reminded me just how little I know about him. All that I know is that he has a lover, apparently has a job even though he looks no older than 15, has some sort of strange past, and has a paternal streak a mile wide. 

Before I know it, I've finished the water and Jackie gets the cup. He stops and looks at me with concern. “Roy,” he starts, placing the cup on the low-lying table in front of me and kneeling down, “you look flushed. Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

Jackie rolls his eyes. “Because you were walking around for who knows how long, without a coat, in sub-zero temperatures.” He puts the back of his hand to my forehead. “Yep, you've got the start of a fever. I thought this might happen.” He stands up and pulls the strange tablet from his pocket. “Rest here for a bit. You can read any of my books, just know that if you damage them-- actually, never mind. Just don't damage them. I'm gonna go get properly dressed and update Bart.” He walks into one of the rooms and shuts the door.

I scoff. A fever? Yeah right, I've walked at night without a coat before, and I sure as hell didn't get sick. Also, was he about to threaten me for damaging books? That sounds like something Sheshka would do.

I pick up a book from the table. The Hobbit. I start to read.

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a wet, dirty hole filled with the ends of worms; nor yet a bare, dry, sandy hole with nothing to sit down on or to eat. No, this was a hobbit hole, and that means comfort…”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------Jackie's POV

Once I've closed the door to my bedroom, I let out a sigh. Gods, this kid. Whatever he went through, it had to be bad. He had panic attacks for seemingly no reason, ignored his health, and had never even had or heard of a poptart. I run my fingers through my as-of-yet untied hair. Fucking hell. How am I supposed to help a traumatized kid when I have work, have school, my own mental issues, and limited money?

I slide down the wall and pull my phone out of my pocket. I open the lock screen and bring up my messages to text Bart. My fingers hover over the screen. How am I supposed to say this? Oh yeah, honey? I picked up a stray kid last night and he's staying at the apartment. Fuck.

emerald_python: Hey, Bart?

blueboi: yeah?

emerald_python: So… I found a kid on my way home last night…

blueboi: ...did you adopt them…

emerald_python: …

emerald_python: I'm letting him stay here for now.

blueboi: wow what a dad

emerald_python: …

emerald_python: That's what you take away from this?

blueboi: i mean it's true

emerald_python: …

emerald_python: I hate you

blueboi: no you don't

emerald_python: …

emerald_python: No I don't.

blueboi: love you too~

emerald_python: I love you too.

emerald_python: I'll see you soon.

blueboi: see you~

I put my phone down. That went better than I thought it would. I get up off the floor. It's time to actually get dressed instead of wearing my pyjamas all day. My clothes are set out already, since I can wear basically anything to my job at the bar. In fact, my manager might as well encourage me to wear stuff that shows more skin because the customers buy more. I throw on a crop top and ripped jeans as well as my socks, and brush and braid my hair before pinning it up. I fasten a thick black choker around my neck and slip my promise ring onto my finger. To finish, I add a cat's eye in eyeliner, and then head back into the living room with my Ancient Civilizations textbook. 

Roy is curled up on the couch, absorbed in The Hobbit. His hair covers his eyes and his frame is swamped by his sweater, but he has a sharply intelligent look in his eye. I sit down next to him and open my textbook. The thing is outdated, but my school is just too poor to afford the new ones. He doesn't move a muscle, completely absorbed in the novel. It isn't long before I too become absorbed in my reading material. 

I'm reading about the fall of the Roman Empire when I feel a light weight on my shoulder. I look at Roy, who has fallen asleep, the book in his hand. His eyes have dark circles under them and he's beginning to get a sheen of sweat from his fever. His fingers keep his place in the book. I consider moving for a second, but I really don't want to risk waking him up. Instead, I continue to read my book, and wait for Bart to arrive.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------  
Roy's POV

I wake up when I hear a door close. The click is soft but distinguishable, and I hear someone slipping off their coat at the door. My whole body tenses. It's an intruder! You're in danger. I start to scramble up so that I can defend myself, pushing against… a person? Jackie, my mind supplies. Jackie? Oh, right. This whole mess that I've found myself in. Does that mean the person at the door is his lover? I try again to sit up, only to feel a wave of nausea.

I look over when I hear another person walk into the room. He has gold eyes like Fullmetal, pale skin, and short styled hair that’s- blue?!? What the fuck? A bright, blue-green blue. It's unnatural. Why-

“Wow. You're actually taking care of him when he's sick too?” He says, and Jackie looks a bit nervous. Then the guy continues. “Now I'm serious. What a dad.” 

Jackie screeches at the indignity. “I'm not his dad!”

The guy smirks. “Are you sure about that?”

Jackie crosses his arms petulantly. “Yes, I very much am, Bartholomew.” He looks down at me and gestures at the newcomer. “Roy, meet Bartholomew Heim. My boyfriend.”


End file.
